


A Quiet Normal Life

by ALMartin1011



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, Sweet Bucky Barnes, and i'm gonna give it to him, cannon diverent, post cryo bucky deserves better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22130554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALMartin1011/pseuds/ALMartin1011
Summary: When Bucky comes out of cryo for the last time all he wants is a quiet, normal life.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 67





	A Quiet Normal Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies! I wanted to try my hand at a different writing style and so this fic was born. I’ve never tried a more narrative style before so it might be trash but I kinda like it. Hope you enjoy it on this dreary cold Sunday! XOXO - Ash

After his final thaw from cryo Bucky has more bad days than good. He spends most of his time wandering around the new and unfamiliar world in a fog, caught between trying to forget the decades with HYDRA and to remember his fleetingly short life before the war. They promise him things will get better and he tries to believe them. It’s six months before the bad days balance with the good. 

Slowly his prewar memories return, breaking free from his mind like waves; some soft and gently breaking the surface, others wild and crashing threatening to drown him with their force. Eventually though when Steve gets that far off look in his eye and says “Remember that time, Buck...”, he really does remember. He remembers the taste of Missy Hanson’s sweet pink bubble gum that she always forgot to spit out before he kissed her. He remembers the wailing sound of their neighbors cat that woke them up almost every day during the scorching summer of ‘41. Bucky prays that as his memories return he will feel less like the Asset and more like Bucky Barnes. The end result is something entirely new and he is working to make peace with that. He slowly starts to think about what he wants his life to look like.

It’s a year before the good days outweigh the bad ones. Bucky finds he’s able to hold a conversation with strangers for more than thirty seconds without having a panic attack. He stops surviving on take out and Steve’s kindness, and starts going out to the store for groceries and things for his home. He collects little succulent plants, liking how easy they are to care for even if he hits a rough patch and forgets to water them for days at a time. Bucky finds reasons to linger in public places, no longer hurrying straight home after his errand. He’s surprised he doesn’t mind small talk with the girl who runs the cafe he favors, and some days he spends an hour at the park feeding ducks bits of bread and watching the world around him. 

The nightmares ease up and he’s getting sleep regularly again for the first time in seventy years. Everyone tells him he’s looking better, healthier, stronger. He looks for signs of these things in the mirror and tries to connect with what he’s seeing. It’s not just a hand, it’s his hand. The hair falling into his eyes is part of him, not an outside presence. Bucky thinks his body is nothing like The Asset’s and tries to take comfort in finding differences. His grey-blue eyes are clearer now, his skin is tanned from days spent outdoors tending his flock, a soft layer of fat now blurs his previously harsh, lean muscles. No one stops and stares at him anymore; the world seems to have forgotten he is an enemy, a danger. Or maybe, he thinks, he is so far from The Asset now he’s unrecognizable. Bucky starts feeling tentative hope that he’s going to have a normal life one day soon. 

A year and half after cryo he meets you. You’re new at the coffee shop and he thinks your smile is so bright it could blind him. The way you repeat his name as you write it on his paper to-go cup makes his cheeks heat and he almost bolts from the shop when your fingers collide with his as you pass him his drink. The second time he sees you he’s prepared, he steels his nerves and asks you about the muffins in the display case. He’s never bought food there before but it seems a plausible reason to make conversation. You’re friendly, helpful, and he thinks he would do just about anything to keep you talking. Bucky chooses to sit in a corner with his coffee instead of retreating the way he usually does. He picks at the blueberry muffin, having bought it out of politeness and not hunger. New memories bubble up as he sits and he wishes absently that he had the blind confidence of his youth. Back in his early twenties he would have planted himself at the end of the counter and chatted you up until he had you blushing, smiling that perfect smile of yours, and agreeing to see him Friday night. But he’s over 100 now, not that he looks it, and has too many scars, both inside and out, that hold him back. 

It’s two weeks of stopping in daily before Steve realizes something is going on. Bucky has tried a dozen new drinks and various pastries all at your suggestion. He doesn’t care what’s in his cup but listening to you describe the different drinks makes his chest feel warm in a way it hasn’t been since before the war. Steve finally asks about it one day when Bucky stops in to his office for their morning hello’s. Bucky’s blushes brightly and tells Steve all the quiet things he’s noticed about you that have him going back everyday. Steve hugs him tightly, assures him this is a good thing: _progress_. Steve tries helping Bucky build his confidence, reminding him everything he is feeling is normal and okay. 

It takes four more weeks before Bucky is brave enough to ask you on a date. Not that he calls it a date. No, he stumbles over his words with shaking hands and a blush that spreads all the way down to his chest. He asks you to join him on a walk around the park after your shift ends in a few hours. You agree with a quick smile, relieved he’s finally asked you out. You know who he is, who he was, and it doesn’t dissuade your interest in him. You look forward to his morning trips into the cafe, your heart stuttering in your chest when he dares to look up at your face through those impossibly long lashes of his. He’s nervous and you try to keep from adding to that. You’re always calm and patient when it’s his turn at the counter, you don’t make any sudden movements and keep your hands where he can see them the whole time. Subtle, small things that most people take for granted but are ingrained in your habits ever since your brother returned from Afghanistan with his own set of demons. You know the steps to the delicate dance around a land mine filled mind.

The walk around the park is quiet at first, you let him take his time adjusting and give him quiet smiles when he glances over at you. Bucky worries you can hear the pounding in his chest when you smile at him. His breathing is labored but not from exertion and he tries to make conversation though he knows he’s not good at it yet. But you don’t complain, you just go along with the flow of things. He’s relieved you don’t push him when he stops mid-thought and needs a moment to collect himself again. The outing lasts all of thirty minutes and at the end he gives you a stiff, forced hug before parting ways. He wants to wrap his arms around you so badly, but the physical contact is almost a little too much and he’s terrified of how strongly he craves the feeling of your body pressed against his. You’re surprised when he begins pulling you towards him and you force your body to be still, giving him a chance to go as far as he’s willing with no pressure from you. It’s an exquisite form of torture having him so near, wanting the physical contact so badly, and yet reigning in your desires to not scare him off. Bucky pulls back after a few seconds and you can’t hide the wide smile that’s formed. He smiles back, forgetting his hesitation for a moment, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight. Bucky retreats then, scared to prolong what had been a perfect outing for fear of ruining it in some way.

Walks in the park become a daily occurrence and Bucky enjoys the easy flow of his days. There is a simple kind of peace in knowing what the next day will hold and he cherishes it. He feeds his flock, gets coffee, visits Steve and sometimes Shur or T’Challa, works on his little farm, walks around the park with you, and then heads home to read or watch TV during the heat of the day. Steve stops over most nights to hang out and it’s two months after his first walk with you that Bucky asks Steve to not stop by the following day. Steve is concerned but Bucky explains he is expecting a different dinner guest: you. The pride that burns in Steve is bright and radiates from him brilliantly. Bucky shies away from the attention but appreciates it all the same. 

Two hours before you’re set to arrive Bucky throws up and then calls his therapist. He’s not ready to bring you into his home. He wants to be, but the fear that claws in his chest reminding him that he’s _dirty, rotten, damaged, ruined, dangerous_ , keep him frozen in place. He’s shaking and cold against the bathroom tile as his therapist walks him through grounding techniques and affirmations. When the nausea rises again forty minutes before you arrive he’s able to fight it back and thinks that’s enough progress to keep on as planned. 

Bucky feels your presence in his home on a visceral level; the air feels different, the light a little brighter. He wonders what his little collection of rooms looks like to your eyes. He knows it’s not much but it’s his and he hopes desperately that it meets your approval. Bucky hangs on every little sigh and hum you make as you wander around his living room. The delicate way you hold onto a terracotta pot with both hands, carefully admiring his Roseum plant, makes him want to feel your hands entwined in his. Bucky can’t decide if he loves or hates the way you are so painfully careful around him, and now also his home. He can’t help but notice the way you hold yourself back when you start to get excited over something, how you slow your movements so as not to startle him, always announcing your intentions if you have to move around him or touch him in some way. It’s a kindness he never expected and helps him let his guard down just a fraction more around you. He wishes it wasn’t necessary though; he wants to see you unfiltered, unrestrained, happy, and free. A long buried part of him wants to see you fall apart completely for him.

It’s another month before he dares to kiss you. The voice in his head that rails against him reminding him of his faults does not go away, but it quiets long enough for the briefest brush of his lips to yours. Two more months and you’re stumbling into bed together, literally stumbling. Bucky’s heel catches on the cuff of his pant leg and he falls gracelessly onto his grey blanketed bed. You flop yourself down next to him giggling, glad that the mood is lightened a fraction. You’re both nervous; Bucky worried about disappointing you, and you worried about doing something to trigger him. It’s awkward and stumbling and he wouldn’t have it any other way, because it’s with you. Things get better the second time around and even better the time after that. You take your time learning each other’s bodies, unhurried and patient.

A year and a half later you’re living together, choosing to move your belongings into his home where he’s most comfortable. The nightmares slowly receded until they are just distant memories. He feels safe letting you share his bed and secretly thinks your presence helps keep the nightmares away. You are more worried than he is about the change of merging your lives. Bucky likes the way your things fit around his, making his home feel full and warm. It gives him another layer of peace he didn’t know his life was missing. Bucky loves the quiet, sleepy mornings laying in bed with you when nothing else matters but the way the light hits your hair against the pillows. You whisper words of love in the dark at night, promises to each other for _always_. Bucky starts to think of his future in a broader sense than what the next few days will bring. 

The future comes. The years blur together as time passes and Bucky is awestruck by how quickly a collection of days becomes a year and then years. Bucky proposes two years after you move in, it’s not a grand gesture, barely more than a hushed plea. Your wedding is equally subdued, exactly as you both wanted it to be. Life goes on whether you want to slow it down or not and you ride the wave of time together. From celebrations to mournings you face it all side by side and slowly Bucky comes to realize he got exactly what he wanted all along. A quiet, normal life.


End file.
